


The Birthday Present

by DHW



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bondage, Emotional Constipation, Hand & Finger Kink, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sex Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: As Garak lay upon the bed, hands tied firmly to the headboard, his second thought was that this had been a very bad idea indeed. He ought to have stuck to unwanted novels, or perhaps chocolates; giving Dr Bashir the option to choose his own birthday gift had been a mis-step at best (and downright stupidity at worst). He could only assume that the certain softness he felt in his heart with regards to the good doctor had begun to spread to his head.There was no other explanation.Especially given that his first thought had not been, ‘How do I extricate myself from the situation?’ but simply, ‘Oh.’ Which his mouth had then echoed before he had been able to stop it.Traitorous thing.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 35
Kudos: 182





	The Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

> **Here be a warning:** the sex is consensual, the bondage... less so.
> 
> Garak really should know better than to give Julian free rein in the bedroom.
> 
> Cheers to the fabulous Quaggy for helping me whip the dialogue into some semblance of shape!

  
  


As Garak lay upon the bed, hands tied firmly to the headboard, his second thought was that this had been a very bad idea indeed. He ought to have stuck to unwanted novels, or perhaps chocolates; giving Dr Bashir the option to choose his own birthday gift had been a mis-step at best (and downright stupidity at worst). He could only assume that the certain softness he felt in his heart with regards to the good doctor had begun to spread to his head. 

There was no other explanation. 

Especially given that his first thought had not been, ‘ _How do I extricate myself from the situation?_ ’ but simply, ‘ _Oh_.’ Which his mouth had then echoed before he had been able to stop it. 

Traitorous thing. 

It had been prompted by the appearance of Julian and… not much else. His uniform had been discarded at some point between now and Garak’s wrists becoming rather more intimately acquainted with a length of velvet rope than he’d have otherwise liked, leaving the doctor in nothing more than a pair of tight, black boxers. It was quite the sight. One Garak had seen several times before, yet never failed to cause the higher-functioning parts of his brain to grind to a momentary halt. 

_Oh._

(Or occasionally, ‘ _Yes!_ ’ for a touch of variety.)

And who could blame him? Julian Bashir was beautiful. At least in Garak’s considered opinion. Truth be told, he had spent an awfully long time considering Julian Bashir—years, even—and had come to the following conclusions:

Julian was all soft skin and long, sweeping lines. A ragtag bag of smiles that ranged from the achingly kind to the smugly superior. At times, a man seemingly made only of elbows and barely contained excitement; at others, frighteningly, enticingly fluid in both movement and thought, flitting gracefully from one thing to the next, countering arguments with enviable ease. His hands, in particular, were a delight to observe, whether working the tools of his trade or things of a distinctly more intimate nature. Grip neither too tight nor too loose; the pressure of his touch matched and measured for every occasion, whether that be perfectly professional or imperfectly erotic in nature.

There was something captivating about Julian’s hands. They featured prominently in Garak’s imaginings—a state of affairs not helped by his now personal acquaintance with their shape and form. He had the hands of a surgeon (fitting, considering), or perhaps a pianist. Golden. Long-fingered. Nails clipped short and neat.

Given the opportunity, Garak suspected he could write sonnets about Julian’s hands, both in Cardassian _and_ Terran style. Not that he was obsessed. 

Well. 

Ish. 

He preferred to call it a ‘cultural difference’. And if Julian was unaware that Garak’s particular fascination with his hands was strange even for a Cardassian, then he was hardly going to correct him. 

The fact was, Julian Bashir was a beautiful man with equally beautiful hands. 

Hands that had taken Garak by surprise, pushing him down upon Julian’s bed and tying him firmly to the furniture without so much as a by your leave. Hands that had given him a somewhat presumptuous, but ultimately not unwelcome caress where few were invited (and even fewer dared). Hands that had apparently been used to divest Julian of his uniform, and were now busily insinuating themselves between the heavy fabric of Garak’s tunic and the sensitive scales of his belly. 

“Relax, Garak,” said Julian with a smile, this one wide and a little toothy. “I’m not going to torture you.”

It was sweet of him, Garak supposed, to think that he could. Better men than Julian Bashir had tried, and failed. Though none of them had taken this particular approach, it had to be said. Oh, he’d been tied up before. To beds. Chairs. Lamp posts. On one horribly memorable occasion, to the luggage rack on the back of a classic 2348 _Dust Killer X4Z_ skimmer. But it had always been as a means to an end—specifically, his—rather than the whole point of the exercise.

Somehow, he doubted Julian meant to kill him. The only death Garak could see looming on the horizon was of a distinctly smaller, sexier variety. 

His neck ridges tingled. 

He was not entirely naive when it came to Terrans and their… proclivities. They were a far more adventurous species than he had previously assumed. If there was one thing he had learnt in his time upon the station, it was that humans could find pleasure in almost anything. Even the filthiest of Cardassian imaginations would be hard-pressed to come up with anything of equally kinky merit. Harder-pressed, still, to admit that they found such things appealing. 

As much as Garak wished he could deny it, it was a little bit thrilling being restrained by someone who wasn’t some variety of homicidal maniac. Especially when said someone’s fingers were expertly stroking his ventral ridge, sending shocks down to the point where it split. 

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” he said, watching the outline of Julian’s hand move beneath the ruched fabric of his tunic. 

Julian rolled his eyes. “I might change my mind if you’re going to be disagreeable.”

Julian’s hands traced along the waistband of Garak’s trousers, each scale they touched prickling in their wake. As they reached the bones of Garak’s hips, the tips dipped briefly beneath the fabric, lightly tracing the deep valleys immediately below. Garak exhaled sharply. He shifted upon the mattress, trying to shy away from Julian’s tickling fingers, and found he couldn’t. The ropes were too tight. 

“I’m never disagreeable, Doctor,” he said, giving his bonds a surreptitious tug, testing the strength of the material. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

The rope was far stronger than Garak had anticipated. A velvet blend. Klingon, perhaps. Soft to the touch, but with a far higher tensile strength than its Terran counterpart. The bed would break before the rope; given the frame was made of steel, unaided escape was therefore unlikely, no matter how much Garak tugged and pulled. No Cardassian was that strong. He’d always considered himself a man who could beat anyone with both hands tied behind his back. However, as he lay upon the bed, wrists firmly fixed to the headboard, he ruefully acknowledged that this talent did not extend to Julain Bashir. Atrocious pun notwithstanding. 

With a grin, Julian pushed the hem of Garak’s tunic up a fraction, exposing the vulnerable, charcoal-flushed scales between his hips. The contrast between the heat of Julian’s hands and the chill of the air was exquisite. Garak heard himself make something that sounded suspiciously like a groan as Julian’s fingers returned to his ventral ridge, nails tracing the line of it down from the bottom of his sternum to the point where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers.

It felt fantastic. Looked pretty fantastic, too, from Garak’s perspective. Julian kneeling beside him upon the bed, one hand moving slowly, teasingly across his sensitised scales, the other resting upon his waist, fingers digging into the flesh of it, a hint of white at his knuckles, the touch hot and demanding even through the thick fabric of his tunic. He took a deep breath. Felt Julian’s hand flex at his waist.

The other began to descend lower, over the front of Garak’s trousers, pressing lightly against the aching ridge beneath. Garak could feel himself becoming slick with arousal, the fabric beginning to stick to his intimate scales as the doctor flattened his palm against him. Pulse racing, an echo of it mirrored between his thighs, he felt himself beginning to harden. 

Garak’s fingers itched with the need to touch Julian. To slide his own hands over the acres of hot, soft skin on display until the doctor shivered and moaned. Palm his cock. Press a slick finger deep inside him. Then another. Use his hands to coax the doctor to a mind-shattering climax. And then, when it was over, when he had left Julian spent and panting, pull him close and...

“Unite me,” he demanded, firmly ignoring the warmth that had begun to blossom in his chest as his train of thought reached its final destination. 

“No,” Julian replied. He popped the top button of Garak’s trousers. Slowly, his fingers began to slide between fabric and scale, zipper inching downwards with the movement as it caught upon his knuckles. “I don’t think so.”

Garak bit his lip, feeling a wave of lust roll over him, and not just at Julian’s touch, but also his voice. It was the same tone he used on his more recalcitrant patients (a category into which Garak had fallen more often than not). Warm but firm. 

Undeniably erotic, too, much to Garak’s amazement. 

It was rare that Julian took the lead. Generally, he preferred to let Garak dictate the specifics, bending to his will (sometimes literally) with little complaint. But, as much as Garak enjoyed their more usual games, there was something about being gently denied his wishes and whims that he found more stimulating than he had anticipated. The sight of Julian, almost naked above him, skin coated in a sheen of sweat, hands moving rhythmically beneath the taught fabric of his trousers as he refused to untie him made him burn with need. 

It made him want _more_. 

The question was, how far would Julian go? 

Would he simply fuck him, or would he go further? Would he touch him, tease him, ramping up the anticipation as he lay there, aching and restrained, until he begged for more? For anything Julian would give him? His mouth? His fingers? 

His cock? 

The idea alone left the ridges of his sex shamelessly slick with anticipation. It was almost embarrassing. Julian had barely touched him, and yet here he was, hips rocking up to grind against the doctor’s hand, cock already threatening to split open the wet ridges between the crux of his thighs. 

“Freedom comes at a price, I’m afraid,” Julian said as he palmed the fork of Garak’s ventral ridge. 

Garak groaned in response. The slide of Julian’s hand across the sensitive scales sent waves of pleasure rippling across his body. He felt a pulsing heat beginning to spread outwards from his abdomen. The muscles of his thighs and stomach tensed as he watched Julian’s hand slip further down between his legs, the fabric of his trousers pulled tight across his arse. 

“When does it not? The question is whe–” Garak gasped as Julian pressed a long finger between the split of his ventral ridge, the tip of it brushing teasingly against the shaft of his now barely concealed cock. He swallowed roughly and continued, “Whether I can afford to pay it.”

“Oh, you can afford it, Garak. Don’t worry,” Julian said with a sly sort of grin. 

“If you say so, Doctor,” he replied. 

A second finger joined the first. Garak heard Julian groan softly as he traced the contours of him, coaxing a choked sound from Garak’s throat, and after a moment, the length of his rock-hard cock out into the cool air. 

Movement restricted by the fabric of Garak’s trousers, the doctor’s pace was slow, leisurely. Julian’s grip twisted ever so slightly as it moved along the wet shaft of Garak’s cock, the sensation causing Garak’s hands to ball into fists, nails biting into his palms. 

“When I asked what you would like to do for your birthday,” he said, more than a little breathless, “this was not what I had in mind.”

“You didn’t think my answer would be, ‘ _You_ ’?” Julian said, free hand affectionately tracing the line of Garak’s jaw. “I find that hard to believe.”

Garak attempted a glare. 

“Unlike yourself, I’m not some depraved sex manaic.”

It wasn’t true. At least, not at this very moment. Right now, tied to the bed with Julian working the shaft of his cock, he felt more than a little depraved. This was hardly respectable behaviour for a Cardassian—even one as disgraced as he. Which, if he was honest with himself, was half the appeal. Garak’s hands flexed, the backs of his fingers brushing against the cold metal of the bed frame. A sharp thrill shot through him. 

Julian’s grin widened. 

“So you’d rather be at Quark’s, drinking kanar and arguing with me?” he said as his hand loosened around Garak’s cock, the touch becoming feather-light. . 

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Then the touch disappeared altogether. 

Garak watched as Julian shifted position above him, straddling his thighs, spreading his own wide. He palmed the thick outline of his cock through his boxers. The muscles of Julian’s stomach tensed. His breathing quickened. 

Garak’s fingers flexed with the sudden need to touch the doctor. He tugged uselessly against the rope. Much, he noted, to Julian’s amusement. For all the doctor’s earlier dismissal of torture, it was beginning to feel as though he was skirting dangerously close to it. 

The sight of Julian stroking himself through the soft, black material—and pointedly _not_ stroking Garak—was certainly the stuff of torture. 

Julian slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Garak’s eyes followed the movement, mouth dry. One. Two. Three. The outline of Julian’s knuckles stark against the fabric. The damp patch just above the tip. The way the slender muscles of his forearm corded with the movement. 

The sight of it was almost too much. 

Garak felt his cock stiffen further, the ridges that surrounded it aching. Any more of this and he was going to come the moment Julian decided to touch him again. Reluctantly, he forced his gaze to return to Julian’s face and found the doctor smiling smugly. 

After a moment, realisation dawned. 

This was a game. One of punishment and reward. Punishment for lies, and reward for...

“I’d rather not be tied up,” he said truthfully.

And was rewarded with the removal of Julian’s boxers. Which, in a way, felt more like a punishment. Especially when Julian was straddled across Garak’s thighs, the heat of him like a brand against Garak’s still-covered scales. 

“I thought you were enjoying yourself,” Julian replied. His eyes flickered briefly over Garak’s cock, which stood almost painfully to attention, the keeled scales of it flushed a dark charcoal. He drew a long finger up the shaft of it, pausing for a moment to press against the little cluster of nerve endings that sat beneath the top-most ridge, before continuing up and over the head, pad dragging through the sticky bead of liquid that had begun to pearl at the tip, smearing the glistening black fluid across the top of Garak’s cock “You certainly _look_ like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Garak countered with a groan. 

“Much like the rest of you, then.”

“Such cynicism is hardly becoming, Doctor.”

Julian quirked an eyebrow. With a smile Garak didn’t like the look of one bit, the doctor drew back, bringing his hand to his mouth, the tip of his index finger dark and glistening. Eyes fixed firmly upon Garak’s, he slipped his finger between his lips and sucked. 

Garak whimpered. 

There was no denying it. From the slightly stunned look in Julian’s eyes, Garak knew he had heard the sound he’d just made in all its needy, humiliating glory, too. 

He felt the scales of his neck flush a dark charcoal with embarrassment. 

But really, what had Julian expected, doing something like that? Garak was not made of stone, even if certain parts of his anatomy were hard enough to politely disagree. If the visuals alone weren’t enough, then the memory of those lips spread similarly around his cock was—another uniquely Terran act of debauchery to which he had become a firm convert. 

Julian withdrew his finger from his mouth with a wet-sounding pop. 

“I knew you were enjoying yourself,” he said triumphantly.

Garak swallowed hard, mouth dry. 

“I’d enjoy myself more if you freed me.”

“Liar.”

Julian reached down to stroke himself, index finger leaving a damp trail upon the flushed skin of his cock. 

The sight was mesmerising. Maddening, too. 

The perfect punishment. 

Julian was disturbingly good at this. Giving with one hand and taking away with the other. In this case, giving Garak the visual of his hand wrapped around his cock. And taking Garak’s own hands out of the equation completely, condemning him to the spectator seats as penance for yet another lie. 

“Is this really necessary?” Garak said, hips rocking upwards as much as they were able as he sought relief from the burning sense of need that prickled across his scales. And failed to find it. “Wouldn’t you prefer my hands to your own?”

The doctor shook his head. He took a deep breath, hand slowing to a halt upon his prick. With a look of determination, he let himself go, cock twitching as he focused the entirety of his attention back on Garak. 

“As tempting as that offer is, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. It’s my birthday,” Julian said, shifting position upon Garak’s thighs in an attempt to still the restricted motion of his hips. He began to peel back the opening of Garak’s trousers, careful not to touch him he exposed yet more of his aching scales to the cool air. “Human custom dictates the giving of gifts on such occasions, and this is your gift to me.”

“I can think of better birthday gifts.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Julian replied, easing Garaks trousers down until they sat, rumpled and creased, at the very top of his thighs. 

This was torture. Sheer torture. No question. 

A low, rumbling moan emanated from Garak’s chest. His eyes roved over Julian appreciatively, desire curling low in his belly along with other, unmentionable emotions. He was so beautiful like this. Long and lean, the ever so slight curve of his muscles just enough to add definition to his willowy frame. Strong jaw. Slender neck. Slim chest tapering down to narrow hips. And below that, his cock, hard and insistent, a drop of clear fluid just beginning to bead at the tip.

It looked obscene. _Felt_ obscene. Julian was naked. Garak was still dressed, slivers of scale exposed here and there, cock jutting wantonly from the dripping ridges between his legs, demanding attention. 

Receiving none. 

Garak tried to shift upon the bed, draw Julian’s eye downwards to the main thrust of his point, but found that between the weight of Julian and the rope around his wrists, he couldn’t. 

It should have been panic-inducing, being trapped beneath Julian like this, unable to free himself, but it wasn’t. Instead of fear, all he felt was an overwhelming desire to be touched. A need that went all the way down to his bones.

It was oddly intoxicating, this sense of powerlessness; that Julian alone could decide what he could feel, when and where he could be touched. Stroked. Kissed. It was almost enough to send him over the edge. With a groan, he tugged uselessly against the rope at his wrists, seeking something, anything, to distract him from the aching sense of hollowness between his thighs. 

He wanted Julian to fuck him. To use his fingers. His mouth. His cock. Anything. He wanted to feel the sharp heat of him both inside and out, striking deeply as he made him come undone. Feel the slide of his sweat-slicked skin. The heat of each shaking exhalation. He wanted it so badly, he was on the verge of begging.

But Elim Garak didn’t beg. Not even for Julian’s touch, no matter how consumed by the need for it he was. 

Instead, he said, "I'd like you to let me go, Doctor."

“Sorry, but no,” said Julian without even the slightest shred of apology. “This is the only balm for the pain of turning thirty-two. Cruel of you to try and deny it to me.”

A moment later, he felt Julian’s hand tangle in his hair, long, hot fingers sliding against his scalp. A shiver ran through him as the doctor’s nails scratched lightly across his skin, exerting just enough pressure to leave him both satisfied and desperate for more. 

“I fear we have differing definitions of cruelty,” Garak groaned. 

“Very probably.”

Julian ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes as he leaned forward. He steadied himself with a palm upon Garak’s chest, fingers briefly flexing against the heavy fabric of his tunic before he dipped down further to catch Garak’s lips in a slow, entirely too sweet kiss. One that made his cock ache. And his heart.

Which he steadfastly ignored. 

“How long have we been sleeping together?” Julian said as he drew back.

Garak frowned, the question catching him off-guard. It seemed an odd thing to ask. 

“I don’t see the relevance of the question,” he said after a moment. 

The hand at Garak’s chest moved upwards to play along the ridges of his neck. Touching. Teasing. Light at first, then with increasing pressure, each pass of Julian’s fingertips across the sensitive scales sending shocks of tingling pleasure straight to his cock. It felt unbelievably good. Better than Garak could ever remember such a touch being before. 

“How long, Garak?” Julian pressed.

God. Too long. Not long enough. Both. 

“I don’t know,” he gasped. 

Julian’s hand withdrew from his neck, returning to a neutral position upon his chest. Garak growled at the loss of sensation, earning another eyebrow raise from Julian. 

The implication was clear: today, lies had consequences. Garak had quite forgotten the rules of the game they were playing. 

“Then I’ll tell you. It’s been eight months, fifteen days and,” Julian looked at the chrono on the far wall, “twenty-five hours.”

And thirty-two minutes, six—no, seven seconds, Garak added mentally. Not that he would ever admit to counting. Confessions like that only led to awkward questions with even more awkward answers.

But Julian had been counting, too. Which could only mean...

“What’s your point, Doctor?”

Julian smiled. He reached down, tracing the line of Garak’s ventral ridge through the thick fabric of his tunic, then down further, across exposed scale, to where it split in two. His fingers darted briefly inwards, stroking the sensitive inner walls, before sweeping up along the top of his cock, following the flat-topped ridge beneath which the bone of it sat. 

“Don’t you think it’s finally time you admitted it?” Julian said as his fingers curled around Garak’s shaft. 

“Admitted what?”

“That you love me.”

Garak’s heart clenched. As did the muscles of his stomach as Julian’s fingers tightened around him. 

Suddenly, everything began to slot into place. The ropes. The game. The smug, self-congratulatory air of Julian’s smile as he teased him mercilessly into telling the truth. 

This was a trap. An interrogation. 

Garak bristled with indignation. The cheek of Julian, thinking he could coax a confession from him as easily as he could a climax. Torture him sexually until the sentiments he had so far sucessfully managed to ignore—for the most part, at least—spilled from his lips with a moan. 

Arrogant bastard. 

The fact that the doctor was correct was of little importance. He refused to be beaten at his own game by an amateur. 

“I think that’s a bit presumptuous of you,” he said carefully, gasping as Julian began to slowly stroke his cock, fingers sliding wetly over the ridged underside.

“I thought you probably would,” Julian replied. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Garak let out a strangled sort of growl as Julian’s grip twisted around his cock, the pleasure of it making his muscles clench, highlighting the emptiness he felt deep inside. The injustice of the situation. Namely, that Julian would rather play a strictly verbal game of ‘probe the Cardassian’, as opposed to a physical one. 

Garak strained against the velvet ropes. 

Sod refusing to be beaten; he was damned if he was going to play at all. 

It was the only way to win.

“It’s not true,” he lied, steeling himself for whatever punishment was about to follow.

“Yes it is,” said Julian, hand sliding from Garak’s cock to press into the dripping slit from which it jutted, “and I’m getting a little tired of having to pretend that it isn’t simply because you refuse to admit that you even have a heart, let alone know what to do with it.”

Garak gasped. He tried to rock up against Julian’s fingers, electricity crackling up his spine, the sensation not quite enough to send him over the edge. Deliberately so. A fraction of an inch further and they’d sink into him, fill him, ease the ache that throbbed deep in his abdomen. Make him come in sticky, black ribbons across his stomach.

Instead, Julian withdrew his fingers. 

This was an entirely new and infinitely more frustrating form of punishment. The penalty no longer the removal of Julian’s touch altogether, but a targeted application of it. Enough to bring him to the edge of orgasm, but not enough to tip him over. Teasing then retreating. 

“If you’re so certain, then why do you need me to admit it?” Garak growled. “Surely you can use your imagination.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Julian replied mildly, tracing the outer ridges of Garak’s sex.

“Then you’re going to be deeply disappointed.”

Garak shuddered. He took a deep, shaky breath and tired, in vain, to block out the sensation of Julian’s fingers. To hold firm even as Julian firmly held certain, agonisingly stiff parts of his anatomy. 

This was not the first time his tendency to stubbornness had brought him trouble. In fact, it wasn’t even the first time it had left him tied to something far sturdier than he’d have liked and tortured mercilessly into a confession. Not that he had given in then, either. 

Obstinacy was his middle name. 

Well, technically, his middle name was ‘ _Prorhot_ ’. However, given that translation into modern Kardassi gave its meaning as something along the lines of ‘ _strong of will_ ’, it was close enough.

A relatively accurate case of nominative determinism, too, as Julian was soon to discover. Even the brief, excruciating feel of the doctor’s mouth around the very tip of Garak’s cock was not enough to provoke anything more than the vocalisation of a heartfelt groan. 

“Say it.”

Julian licked a long, torturously slow stripe across the underside of Garak’s erection. 

“No.”

“Fine.” Julian drew back. His fingers dipped inside Garak to run along the hidden seam at the base of his cock. “Then I’ll say it.”

Garak exhaled sharply, anticipation beginning to claw at his insides, warring with the pleasure he felt at Julian’s touch. 

Julian was playing with fire. Or at least playing with something that felt as though it was about to burst into flames. He felt hot. Restless. Sweat was beginning to bead upon his chest, his neck, his forehead. 

“Why?” he said, back arching as Julian’s fingers traced along the sensitive inner walls of his ventral ridge. “In the hope that I’ll be overcome with sentiment and reciprocate in kind?”

“Maybe I just want to say it.”

“You’ll be wasting your breath.”

 _’Because I already know_ ,’ Garak added mentally. 

Whilst Garak couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Julian had fallen in love with him, he wasn’t blind. Julian Bashir was not a subtle man. He was, however, deeply, endearingly infuriating. Loveable, even. Which was exactly the problem. 

Elim Garak loved Julian Bashir. 

It was an unfortunate state of affairs. Love, Garak thought, was a vastly overrated concept. It only led to trouble, if his brief and overwhelmingly complicated experience with the emotion was any indication. The last time he’d let his heart rule his head, he’d ended up here, on this damned station, disgraced and alone. 

Simple, uncomplicated sex was vastly prefereable. 

And yet, despite his long-held reservations regarding love and its many downsides, he had fallen for the irritating Terran somewhere along the way. Possibly before the sex had even begun; back on that damned asteroid, or earlier still, when the doctor had removed the implant from his head and stayed with him, held his hand, walked unwittingly into the Toj’lath’s den to save him, despite the insults and the lies. 

Yes. Then. The sex had come later. Cemented the problem. 

Garak had only himself to blame. After all, he had initiated it. _He_ had approached the doctor, teased him, tormented him with secrets and mysteries. Kept him interested. Talked him into lunch, later dinner, and eventually his bed. Taken everything Julian had offered, and given him his heart in exchange. 

Idiot. 

Still, there was no going back now. Only forward—seemingly at breakneck speed—all the feelings he had long kept locked away threatening to bubble up to the surface. Much to his irritation. 

Yes, he loved Julian Bashir. But he was damned if he was going to be tricked into admitting it. Not like this, tied to the bed, hard and desperate for the doctor’s touch like some Terran whore. He had some pride left, thank you very much. 

Not that Julian seemed to have noticed. 

“I’m an optimistic sort, Garak,” said Julian, finger brushing lightly against the slick, puckered scales buried deep within the split of his ventral ridge. “Given the position I currently have you in, I quite like my odds.”

“I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation,” he replied, panting.

“Then you clearly haven’t been keeping up.”

“I can only keep so many things up at once, Doctor,” he said, cock twitching as if to punctuate his statement.

“Such as this charade?” Julian countered, pressing a single finger inside him, sinking in to the first knuckle with ease. 

Garak’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, bound hands clawing against the metal of the headboard as an overwhelming sense of _want_ washed over him. A second finger swiftly followed, stretching the tight ring of muscle achingly wide. 

“I was thinking of something a little more tangible,” he groaned. 

Julian laughed. He pitched forward, fingers sinking deeper as he pressed himself against Garak, the tip of his cock sliding wetly against Garak’s hip. Pleasure lanced through Garak as Julian bit at the swollen ridges of his neck, fingers moving in sync with his mouth as he worked his way up towards Garak’s jaw. His free hand tangled in Garak’s hair, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss. 

“I love you,” Julian said against Garak’s lips, fingers curling deep inside him.

Garak moaned. Loudly. 

“I’m not listening,” he said, panting heavily as he lied through his teeth.

Julian’s fingers withdrew, leaving him feeling hollow. Empty. Garak moaned again, this time in frustration. 

“Then I’ll say it again. I love you, Garak.”

“Doctor…”

“Julian,” he corrected with another kiss, tongue sliding into Garak’s mouth in a filthy simulacrum of his fingers’ previous activities.

Garak’s cock twitched, trapped between Julian’s belly and his own. God, he was going to come. Spill himself across the doctor’s red-hot skin, body still begging for more even as he shuddered and gasped his release. Julian’s kiss. His words. The feel of the doctor’s prick grinding against the bone of his hip. Garak was so close to the edge, he felt wild with it. Reckless. 

He pulled against the rope, struggling for leverage to rock his hips against Julian’s, hoping desperately that it would be enough to make him come. To end the torment before he confessed. Lost the game he had been tricked into playing. But Julian, it seemed, was wise to Garak’s intentions. He lifted himself up, moving to sit back on his haunches, denying Garak even the smallest amount of friction against his aching cock.

“Admit that you love me,” Julian said, hands holding Garak’s hips still, “and I’ll let you come.”

A tempting offer. But one, even now, desperate for release, he could not bring himself to accept. 

Garak swallowed drily. “ _Doctor_ , whilst I find the feelings you appear to have developed for me deeply flattering, I’m afraid they are not reciprocated.”

The grip upon Garak’s hips tightened. Julian’s smile took on a distinctly predatory tinge.

“Liar,” he said, neatly-clipped nails digging deliciously into Garak’s scales.

“We have sex. It’s simply an enjoyable way to pass the time. Nothing more.”

“Liar,” Julian repeated, a tinge of amusement to his tone. 

“Cardassians do not fall in love,” Garak insisted. 

Julian grinned. He dragged his nails across Garak’s hips, making him shudder, before smoothing his palms up along his waist. 

“That’s the single, most ridiculous lie I think you’ve ever told me,” he said, leaning forward to bite at the soft, vulnerable scales of Garak’s stomach. 

“This Cardassian does not fall in love,” Garak replied with a strangled groan. “And certainly not with irritating, sanctimonious Terrans who give their hearts away at the drop of a hat. ”

Julian licked the length of the groove below Garak’s left hip before drawing back.

“I think you’ll find that, technically, I gave mine away at the drop of your trousers,” he said with a smirk. 

He pressed a hand between Garak’s thighs, palming his cock before sliding down further, fingers dipping between the twin ridges. The touch was brief and frustrating. After a few seconds, Julian withdrew his hand, abandoning Garak’s body in favour of his own. 

“That was crass, even for you.” 

“It’s just one of the many things you love about me, I’m sure.”

Garak watched as Julian brushed the palm of his hand against the head of his cock, smearing the sticky wetness there further down the length of himself, hips bucking slightly at the sensation. His other hand, the one slick with the fluid that dripped from Garak’s slit, disappeared behind the doctor and out of sight. 

Not that Garak couldn’t guess what Julian was busy doing. 

Garak’s fingers itched. His cock ached. His heart... 

“I don’t love you.”

“Yes, you do,” Julian said, moaning softly, hips pitching forward, the hand on his cock relentless. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

There was a pause. One filled with panting and need and the buzz of words as yet unspoken.

“I don’t see how any of this resulted in the decision to tie me to your bed,” Garak said when the sight of Julian became too much to bear. 

Julian shrugged. Then, shifting upon Garak’s thighs, he reached forward, hand encircling Garak’s cock as he positioned himself above it. Garak shuddered. He gasped as Julian’s grip tightened fractionally around him, the pad of this thumb sweeping up across the waves of keeled scales to rub gently at the sensitive lip of the head. 

“You can’t run away from your feelings tied up like this,” Julian said as he sank down upon Garak’s cock, the movement slow and careful. 

“I think you may be taking things a little too literally, Doctor,” Garak gasped, breath catching in his throat. 

Julian was tight. Hot. Slick with Garak’s arousal. His head lolled back as he reached down to grab his erection, muscles clenching tightly around Garak as he began to stroke it, hips remaining maddeningly still. His hands shook. His chest heaved, the outline of his ribs stark beneath his skin. A bead of sweat ran down the flat line of his sternum, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. 

“Alright,” he said, Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed throat as he swallowed. “You can’t run away from me tied up like this.”

“I could simply refuse to listen to you,” Garak countered.

Julian rolled his hips. Whether in reward or punishment, Garak couldn’t tell. Nor did he care, as long as it led to more, his brain beginning to short-circuit at the feel of the doctor around him. 

“You didn’t manage it before. What makes you think you’ll be able to this time?”

“I’m an optimistic sort, Doctor,” he said, echoing Julian’s words from earlier. 

Another flick of Julian’s hips. 

“You’re a liar.”

And again. 

This time Julian placed a hand upon Garak’s hip, steadying himself as he settled into a rhythm—cock still sliding through his slick fist—each movement slow and deliberate. Careful. Perfectly calculated to bring Garak to the brink, but not quite tip him over. 

Garak growled. 

“What makes you think I’ve fallen in love with you?” Garak said, using what little slack there was in the rope to thrust up into Julian. Ease the insistent ache that pulsed through his cock. 

Julian’s fingers bit into the scales of Garak’s hip almost hard enough to draw blood. 

“I can see it in your eyes,” he said, the words more of a moan than anything else.

An answering sound, just as unmistakably needy, rumbled from Garak’s chest before he could stop it. 

“The… The product of an overactive imagination, nothing more.”

The lie was as transparent as glass. He knew it—as did Julian. But he was too far gone to make another, more convincing attempt. He was already so close it hurt. His scales felt as though they were on fire, his breath now little more than a series of sharp, staccato pants punctuated by the sound of the moans he could no longer help but make. 

Garak didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on before in his life, bound and helpless as Julian attempted to fuck the truth from him. 

It was depraved. Obscene. 

God, it was perfect.

He could feel his resolve crumbling.

Need, sharp and insistent, twisted the muscles of his stomach. Bracing himself against the bed, against the ropes that bound him tight to it, he rocked his hips up into Julian’s tight heat, driving himself as deep as he could. 

Julian gasped. 

It seemed as though he was just as on edge as Garak. His hands trembled. His movements had taken on a frantic undertone. Almost desperate. 

“Tell me you love me,” Julian said. “Like I love you.”

Garak’s hands clawed helplessly against the headboard. It was as though the universe had begun to condense around him, suddenly devoid of everything save Julian. The feel of him around his cock. Of his weight upon his thighs. The sound of his voice and the swell of unmistakable emotion in it. 

“They’re just words, Doctor,” he insisted, panting. 

“Then they should be easy enough to say.”

Julian pitched forward, bracing himself upon Garak’s heaving chest as he kissed him. Bit him. Slid his tongue between Garak’s swollen lips and took his mouth with the same ferocity as his cock. 

“Tell me you love me,” Julian said against Garak’s lips. 

Begged.

“Julian.” His name was more of a groan than a word. 

“Please.”

It was too much. 

The world shattered around him as he came. The force of his orgasm hit him like a skimmer, whole body shaking as he spilled himself deep inside Julian. He was drowning. Gasping for air as his vision began to fade at the edges, aware of nothing but Julian. 

There was no holding back. No mistaking the way he felt. He wanted Julian. All of him. Mind. Body. 

Heart. 

And he was so ready to give him everything in return. 

He felt the words slip from him before he could stop them. 

“I love you.” 

The hands at his chest clawed at his tunic. The muscles around his spent cock clenched. The doctor’s breath was hot against his lips. 

“I know,” Julian whispered as he followed Garak over the edge. “God, I know.”  
  



End file.
